


Swallowed Pride

by eyesfixedonthesun22



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Cheating, F/F, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rutting, Secret Relationship, Smut, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering, bisexual reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesfixedonthesun22/pseuds/eyesfixedonthesun22
Summary: You and Natasha Romanoff go way back.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Reader
Kudos: 67





	Swallowed Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The lies that tied your tongue in knots – Are the words that grew to hit my spots – So filthy, dialed desire – Swallowed pride but spit out fire – Liars turn me on (Bounce - The Cab)

St. Petersburg:

The first time it happens is in a shitty flat on the south bank of the Moyka River. The two of you had run there; stilettos clicking on the night washed cobblestones. You smirk remembering the chorus of screams and sirens behind the redhead and her accomplice. The next morning the papers would describe a silent assassination at the St. Petersburg's Mariinsky ballet; so perfectly coordinated it shocked the world. The two of you would have already left the country before ink hits paper. 

In the dingy flat, she hushed your brazen giggles. Back then you always got drunk off a job well done, before honest work had slapped some humbleness and morals into you. You’d always gotten drunk as well. She preferred vodka while you guzzled bourbon. The honey sweet burn of the alcohol and then high of bloodshed fueling you.

The safehouse apartment had a crap bed and worse heat. That’s what you tell yourself now. More catalysts pushing you to an inevitable conclusion; out of your hands. 

The two of you slipped off jewels, emeralds for you and rubies for her. The fine silk dresses now thrown unceremoniously across a chair in the corner; only panties and brassieres left separating skin. Such delicate little things. Watching Natasha disrobe set you aflame. Each click of her gun’s safeties seemed to ramp you closer to danger. You loved watching the dangerous woman disarming herself. A one woman militia. She did it with meticulous precision, the blood red nail polish clicking on cold metal weapons.

“Come to bed, Любимая моя. We have an early morning.” 

You never went to sleep that night. Years later it was easier to blame the drinking or the cold, but it was a lie. It was more accurate to blame on the milky curve of her collar bone or the way she wears a knife strapped to her ankle… even to bed. 

You remember the cold steel pressing into your vulnerable skin as you came; rutting against her ginger curls, cursing some Russian she taught you with your shoulder length opera gloves still on. 

Berlin:

Over the course of the next few years the two of you fucking became part of the friendship. Some missions finished in girl talk; drinking wine and painting your nails a similar shade as the vintage. Others finished with you acting as wingwomen for each other in some crowded nightclub in whatever seedy corner of the world your work had taken you to. She’d smirk at you knowingly while you took a cab one direction and she did the same in another. But always, you’d bounce back to one another.

You loved her. 

You remember Berlin, after nearly a year apart, the longest spanse of time between seeing her. She’d been different. Marked. Mentally and physically. You press your fingers deeper into flesh, tracing long memorized but deeply missed softness and feel the raised skin over her left hip bone. You knew how she got it. It was one of so many scars she’d acquired without you there to watch her back.

“Not soft all over anymore.” Her vulnerable eyes found yours in the dark before you thumb gentle circles on her clit. She sets her jaw; ever so stubborn and refuses to close her eyes. 

“Still feels soft to me.” 

Instead of words she responds by slipping two deadly fingers into your wet heat, pushing and pressing at the spots that make you keen. 

That night you’d fallen asleep to her tracing all yours scars, gentle opera played in the background. 

You loved her. 

New York:

You loved your boyfriend (in a way). 

Nearly a decade later the two of you had gone straight, joining up with the Avengers. It took her months to convince you to leave your old life behind. You wouldn’t have done it for anyone but her. 

You remember telling her, “Honest work doesn’t suit me.”

The boyfriend knew about your line of work… vaguely. He knew you traveled a lot (for business). He knew if he asked you questions about your work besides what you’d already labeled as “safe” it’d start a fight. He thought you lived together. After dating a year, he’d presented you with a shiny freshly cut silver key. What he didn’t know was you’d kept your loft across town; the one two blocks down the street from Nat’s. 

You can't bring yourself to feel horrible. A life of deceit and mistrust had warped you like a book left in the rain; only the most trained of eyes capable of deciphering it. 

“Honesty doesn’t suit me,” you mutter to yourself. 

The relationship wasn’t worthless. With him, for the first time in a long time, you had a place to come home to that didn’t feel like a glorified suitcase. He helped you learn to survive on more than takeout and boxed mac n’ cheese. You actually enjoyed cooking when your hips pressed against his at the cutting board. You felt like honest work felt a little less like work when you were trying to go on the straight and narrow for him. 

You saw Natasha less since he’d come into your life. She was an anchor back into that old life even if she’d been the one to pull you into the present. You wondered if she had any new scars. You wondered if she still kept her favorite knife on her ankle as she undressed for bed. You wonder what your boyfriend would say if he knew you kept your favorite pistol under the mattress and at least one perfectly sharp blade in the bedside table. 

Old habits die hard. 

* * *

The warm glow of candlelight makes his eyes sparkle. It’s your anniversary and he’s twitching and flushed. You’re focusing on taking the next bite of your steak wellington; ignoring it’s turned to sawdust in your mouth and no amount of unseemly gulps of wine can push it past the welling lump in your throat. 

“Darling! Любимая моя!” a familiar voice calls across the restaurant. 

There she is; all silk and black leather accented with a flash of her flame red hair. She exchanges pleasantries with him. 

You stand awkwardly only able to mutter a pathetic, “Bathroom.” 

You brace your hands on the cool tile of the sink. Your two worlds were never supposed to collide. The room is twirling, and you can’t catch your breath. You search for an exit; perhaps some window when the door opens. 

“There’s no exit.” She stares at you like a cat who’s caught a mouse. “Closest exit is out the kitchen to the alley. You should know that, Любимая моя.”

“Why are you here, Nat?”

“A better question could be why is he about to propose to someone with the last name Miller.”

“Fuck.” The curse is almost silent, muttered into the back of your hand your rage swirls fast and burning below the surface.

“He doesn’t know your last name! He doesn’t know what you do! What  _ we _ do!” The double meaning doesn’t fail to hit home. “Were you ever going to tell him, or just let to poor bastard propose to a stranger?”

“Why are you here!?” you challenge her again. 

“ **The lies that tied your tongue in knots – Are the words that grew to hit my spot.** It burned away at me. I can’t let you live this secret fucked up lie. We gave that up when we joined the Avengers.”

“No. You did.”

You click the lock closed before pouncing on her. It’s  **so filthy; dialed desire** pent up after how long of trying to fake a normal life. 

“Let me taste you, Natalia. I’ve missed you.” 

She sinks her teeth into your neck; already devouring your feeble attempt at domination. The black widow was in charge. She pushes you back onto the sink, yanking your dress up around your middle. Her manicured nails don’t bother to take your panties off, opting to rip them to the side before her soft mouth is on your core. 

“ не останавливайся! You pant and writhe as she forces your legs further apart. She drinks you down like vodka. 

With your release sparkling on her lips and chin the two of you run through the kitchen and out the backdoor.

* * *

“You don’t need him,” she says cool and calm between drags off her cigarette. 

You’ve spent the past ten minutes toying with the cardboard box containing the rest of them. It’s some Russian brand with red and yellow packaging. The heady tobacco smoke mixes with telltale musk soaked into the black cotton sheets in Natasha’s bedroom. 

“Why are we here, Nat?”  
“ **Liars turn me on**.”

She still manages to hold the smoldering stick while you chase her across the bed and dive once more into her fiery curls; soaked and creamy from her last release. 

That’s how the night continues. 

She doesn’t dress. Neither do you. The two of you keep your skin out in the open, on show for one another. It’s a constantly tussle of bodies in motion fighting to give pleasure because otherwise you have to stop and fight to deliver pain onto one another.  **Swallowed pride only to spit out fire** . It’s as if each lie the two of you have told over the years for one another fuels you both; turns you on. 

After her last shuddering release, muscles stretching like a tawny cat, she asks you, “Let’s go to the opera tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic with lesbian smut. Definitely a work in progress. Cheating is bad, I don’t condone it. This song just always had that sort of tone and mood for me when I listened to it. Sorry Laur (fvckingavengers) for this being like uber uber late. Your challenge said no deadlines and I legit just didn’t even put a note on my document of when I started this. It got lost in the shuffle. Please ignore the poorly translated Russian. Любимая моя= my love, не останавливайся = don’t stop


End file.
